


Beneath the Cracks and Fissures

by Mairead1916



Series: Bury Me Standing [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mairead1916/pseuds/Mairead1916
Summary: Christine is simultaneously impressed and repulsed by the comforts of the Alexandria-Safe-Zone. During her interview with Deanna, she struggles to make a positive impression in order to guarantee a place of safety for her siblings and, though she's hesitant to admit it, herself.





	Beneath the Cracks and Fissures

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song, "Saints Preservus," by Andrew Bird, which also includes the lyrics, "Bury me standing." To me, the lyric, "I'm a stranger/In a land that's anything but strange" perfectly captures Christine's feelings as she enters the stereotypical, but now unfamiliar, suburban world of the Alexandria-Safe-Zone.

The house was larger than any Christine had ever been in before. The walls were beige and the airy curtains that hung from the first floor’s many large windows were white and beige with patterns on them that matched the swirling pattern of the chair Christine was sitting in, only the swirls on the chair were greenish-blue—an interior decorator would probably call the color aqua. Behind Christine was a recessed bookshelf with white crown molding and next to that was a recessed window seat, the window also flanked by white crown molding and those beautiful, airy, white and beige curtains. A marble fireplace stood between two of the largest windows—upon further reflection, Christine saw that they opened into doors, although they were still curtained just like the windows—with the marble splitting the difference between the white and beige of the curtains, walls, and moldings, to cover itself in a light, off-white beige. Just below the fireplace’s mantel, the manufacturer had carved—or more likely violently stamped—a tree that could be seen as a depiction of the tree of life if one were in the right mood. Christine was, but not in a way devoid of irony. She wondered what the urban planning majors she knew in college would think of the fact that the cradle of their new civilization was a monument to suburbia’s worst excesses.

Christine managed to stop her survey of the house long enough to look ahead at Deanna, the leader of this community, a small woman engulfed by the deep leather couch she sat on. 

Christine made quick eye contact with Deanna, before looking away. While the rest of the survivors were cataloguing all the edible parts of a squirrel, Deanna and her people were using the zombie apocalypse as a way to move up in the world. Or perhaps, Deanna was not. As a congresswoman, she may have lived in a house just as opulent, if not more so, before all this. The majority of the community’s residents surely could not have, though. The thought of them moving into these enormous houses, probably reveling in the sheer size of them, made Christine angry, even though she knew it probably shouldn’t. Every time she looked at Deanna, she worried the anger would register on her face and she’d have to look away.

“You seem uncomfortable,” Deanna said.

She had clearly noticed Christine’s darting eyes. Christine supposed they were hard to miss. She wondered if Deanna had seen the anger as well.

“I’m sorry,” Christine said.

“There’s no need to be sorry. I’m just wondering what I can do to put you more at ease.”

Christine could think of a lot of things Deanna could do. For starters, she could forgo this bizarre, recorded interview process altogether. If she really thought it necessary—and Christine realized that a discussion of some kind was probably required before accepting a group of almost feral looking humans into one’s pristine community—she could at least not hold the interview in such an oppressively symmetrical house. Christine could feel her very dirty, deeply beige, but not in the same way as the rest of the décor, body disrupting the space around her. She felt the room bristle at having to accommodate her.

“That’s very kind of you,” Christine said. “I just haven’t interacted with anyone outside our group in a long time. I’m worried that my social skills are a bit lacking.”

Christine had meant this last part as an easy excuse for her evident discomfort but quickly saw the truth in it. She tried to remember how she had interacted with new people before the outbreak and found that she couldn’t. The realization made her feel teary eyed and she hoped Deanna would say something soon.

“You’re a very tight-knit group, aren’t you?” Deanna asked.

“Yeah. We’re a family, really.”

“I’d sensed that.”

“If you _sensed_ all of this so readily, what do you even need me here for?” Christine wanted to ask.

To Christine, Deanna was the quintessential politician, always trying to make you feel like she knew you, but only to get your vote or approval. Christine wondered if that was how Deanna had weaseled her way into her leadership position, by shaking hands and kissing babies and telling people she appreciated their comments and concerns. Christine felt her face reddening with suppressed anger and took a few steadying breaths, she hoped discreetly. She wasn’t being fair, anyway, she realized, chastising herself. Deanna may have been a “social operator,” a term Christine had once derisively used to describe her mother’s involvement in town politics, a criticism she now regretted, but she had also achieved great things in her community. Everyone Christine had seen so far looked happy and well-fed and they all seemed to get along. She should applaud them for this, not resent them. She tried to start over in her head, to not question Deanna’s motives so much, to not be so quick to anger.

Christine was so easily annoyed these days, so suspicious of outsiders. She was not as bad as her father, though, not yet anyway. She’d have to be careful of that. She couldn’t even tell if he wanted to stay in the Alexandria Safe-Zone, but Christine knew that she did. She was already thinking, with some trepidation, about adjusting to this new community, about having to get used to interacting with more than the same fifteen people each day. She could hardly even stand to consider having to go back out there, beyond Alexandria’s walls, to what, she couldn’t say anymore. Despite experiencing it, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to put into words what they had all been through in the past months.

“So, do you want to join us?” Deanna asked. “You know already that we’d really like to have you.”

“I would,” Christine said, trying to sound just the right amount of eager—grateful, but not too desperate. “Yeah. We all would. We need a place like this, I think.”

“Your father doesn’t seem as excited about it.”

“He’s just thinking it over,” Christine said. She had been saying this to herself ever since they arrived. If her father decided they couldn’t stay, she’d go with him of course, but she didn’t think she could ever forgive him. “He’s wary of other groups,” she continued. “He’s had run-ins with other camps that I haven’t.”

Neither Carl nor her father had been willing to talk about what happened at Terminus, but Maggie had told her enough. She had told Christine about being forced into train cars, about being gassed as the Terminus members took a group of them away, a group that had included Christine’s father. Glenn had been in the group too and had been lined up with the others in front of a trough. He had watched as the men beside him were clubbed over the head with a baseball bat, before having their necks slit, their bodies shoved over the trough for their blood to drain out. He had told Maggie about all this and Maggie had told Christine. Even third hand, it was enough. It was enough to frighten her and invade her dreams at night. And they had all seen what happened to Bob. Then the people from Terminus, led by Gavin, had snuck into the church and threatened Christine’s family. They had used Carl and Judith’s names like they knew them, like they had earned the right to that familiarity. Christine had wanted to jump out of the back office where she was hiding with the others and tell these Terminus people to never speak to her siblings ever again. She had wanted to kill them the way she had killed that man who threatened Judith in the shed. When she watched her father drive his machete deep into Gavin’s skull, she had flinched—because she knew she was supposed to—but she had also smiled. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. What she knew had been enough. She could only imagine how it must have felt to Carl and her father. “Wary” wouldn’t even begin to describe it.

Deanna leaned forward, her hands clasped in between her knees. She looked as though she were straining to read Christine’s thoughts.

“What did these other groups do?” Deanna asked, evidently unsuccessful in her mind-reading.

“I don’t think my father would like me to say. He didn’t do anything wrong, though. They were violent.” Christine paused as the image of Gavin and the machete flashed before her eyes, as she remembered her father killing that policewoman at the hospital, as she thought about Shane. “Violent without cause,” she added.

“I see. So he has extra reason to be suspicious of us here.”

“Yes, but he’ll come around. I think he wants to stay here.” Christine said this with more certainty than she felt. “I think he recognizes how important it is.”

“Why do you think it’s important?” Deanna asked, leaning even farther forward. Deanna and Christine sat separated by a large coffee table. Still, Christine settled deeper into her chair, trying to evade Deanna’s piercing gaze.

Christine blinked quickly, erecting a curtain between her eyes and Deanna’s. “It’s just too dangerous out there for a baby. The rest of us, we’re used to it. We could’ve found a way to survive, I think. But, with Judith, my sister, it was just too precarious. We didn’t even have food for her. We didn’t have water. I was… _we_ were getting worried. Really worried.”

Christine had begun her response calmly but had gradually sped up, sounding more and more agitated as she remembered Judith’s hungry cries. She was trying to project confidence and mental fortitude, trying to seem like an asset to this community, instead of an anchor. Deanna gave Christine a look of understanding, even though Christine knew that Deanna did not, in fact, understand her at all.

“So you want this for your sister?” Deanna asked.

“And for my brother. I think it would be good for him to have more of a community, stability. He’s had to… he’s been through a lot.”

“What about you?”

“I’d be fine either way,” Christine lied. “I mean, I want to stay here if you’ll have us. But I… it’s not as important for me.”

“I meant what have _you_ been through?”

“I’d prefer not to talk about that,” Christine said, turning her head to avoid having to see Deanna’s response. Looking out the window, she saw a woman walking her dog. What a foolish use of resources. Christine wondered if they’d be willing to eat the dog if it came to that. Perhaps, in Alexandria, it never would.

“Christine,” Deanna said, trying to call her attention away from the window. When Christine refused to look at her, Deanna continued, “All day long, people from your group have been coming in here and telling me stories about your time together. Even your brother’s told me some things. I do know what he’s been through and I—”

“No you don’t,” Christine snapped, tearing herself away from the woman and the dog to glare at Deanna for as long as she could before Deanna’s searching eyes forced her to look away.

“I know he had to shoot your mother.”

“If you think that’s it…” Christine began, but her anger wouldn’t let her finish. “You don’t know,” she said. “You can’t.”

“You could help me know,” Deanna said. “Like your brother did. But you don’t seem willing to do that. You or your father.”

“Is that a problem?”

Now Christine leaned forward too.

“No, it’s an observation. I’ve also observed that you really want to stay here, or at least it seems like it. Perhaps, more than anyone else, you want to stay. And yet, you won’t tell me anything about yourself.”

Christine crossed her arms and sat back again, trying to bodily remove herself from this line of questioning.

“I’ve told you plenty about myself.”

“No, you’ve told me about your siblings. A little bit about your father. But not about you. And it seems like you want to.”

This was ridiculous. Deanna obviously held herself in very high regard to think that some stranger would want to open up to her. Christine had her family for that, or so she had always believed. Lately she wondered. It seemed like they were all hiding things from each other these days, trying to protect each other, as if not letting anyone else know how scared they were would somehow release everyone else from that fear, as if it wasn’t already there whether they said anything or not. She had Maggie, though. Ever since Beth died at that hospital, Christine had tried not to burden Maggie with her doubts, but, ordinarily, she had Maggie. Their group even had a priest for Christ’s sake. He was a nervous man, who made Christine nervous too, but the idea that she would ever bare her soul to some failed politician who had spent the past two years hiding behind a wall, living in an idyllic, colorless world of safety, was laughable.

“I _don’t_ want to.”

“I think you do.”

Christine bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Even if Deanna was right, what did she think she’d accomplish by repeating herself over and over again? Did she think Christine would suddenly consent to making herself vulnerable? The more a stranger knew about you, the more ammunition they had to use against you. Her father taught her that when she was very young, before the outbreak even began. Living in such a small town, he would sometimes question suspects before the detectives arrived and he said the easiest ones to figure out were the guys who liked to chat, even if they weren’t talking about their crimes, or at least thought they weren’t.

“If you ever get in trouble with the police,” he had told her, “don’t say anything.”

“Or just don’t do anything that’d get you in trouble,” her mother had responded. “Jesus, Rick, what kind of thing is that for a sheriff to say?”

“I don’t want to limit her career possibilities just because of the field I’ve chosen. If she’s gonna be a bank robber, I’d at least like her to be a good one. Isn’t that right, Chrissy?”

Then her father had raised his eyebrows and winked at her and Christine had agreed that that was right.

“I think my father would prefer it if I didn’t tell you more than I need to,” she said now.

“You tend to defer to your father.”

“No, not at all.”

“But you just said—”

“There’s a difference between deference and loyalty.”

“That’s well put.” Deanna looked impressed. “Well, is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

Christine looked at Deanna more directly than she had been willing to do before. She was not at all concerned about displaying her anger now. “No,” she said.

“Alright then,” Deanna said with a nod.

Christine stood up slowly, hearing her heart beating in her ears. She took several tentative steps, hoping that Deanna would call her back. When Deanna did not, Christine continued to walk away, her gait almost painfully slow. Part of her wanted to flee the room, but another part of her feared what would happen when she walked out the door. Her anger was diffusing, turning into terror. She was sure she had just ruined this for everyone. Deanna would not want her anymore. Maybe Christine could beg her to let everyone else stay. She wasn’t too proud to beg. She wasn’t too proud for anything, she reminded herself. Just moments ago, she had been contemplating eating some woman’s dog. When the group had finally gotten the showers working in the prison, Christine had been so filthy, the dirt from her body had clogged the drain. She had once eaten baby formula and she and her father had tried to feed Judith crushed up acorns just days ago. There was nothing left to be proud of.

And yet, she knew it was pride that had caused her to react so angrily to Deanna’s questions. She hadn’t felt capable of absorbing any more humiliation, but she had been wrong. Her behavior during the interview—recorded for the people in Alexandria to watch and laugh at long after she was gone—was plenty humiliating and somehow she was still standing. She imagined these strangers watching her carefully performed sanity fall apart. What would they think of someone who couldn’t keep her wits about her long enough to guarantee a safe place for her brother and sister? They’d think she was selfish and stupid and out of control, and they’d be right. She hadn’t been like this before, or at least she didn’t think she had. Maybe she was wrong, though. Maybe she had always been this way and the new world was just shining a spotlight on all her deficiencies. Some things had changed, she knew. Two years ago, she would have never thought herself capable of killing another human, no matter how necessary. In the past few months alone, she had killed three people and been tempted to kill more. The act of killing had been so easy—immediately—and the aftermath had become less and less difficult with time. If she had to kill tomorrow, if she had to do it to protect Carl or Judith or Maggie or even her father, she could do it without losing any sleep. Perhaps _that_ was something to be proud of. Perhaps her past aversion to killing, her spoiled naivety, was the deficiency and she had outgrown it. She thought it more likely, though, that her newfound ruthlessness was just another character flaw to add to her ever expanding list. She wondered who she’d have to kill when Alexandria sent them back out—or, ideally, sent just her out. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so steady. She had made her way to the door and she now gripped the frame in order to stay upright. She turned around to see Deanna standing behind her.

“I won’t be fine if I have to go back out there.”

The sentence burst out of Christine, becoming one long, breathless word in the process.

Deanna nodded at her.

“I won’t be fine,” Christine repeated. “I’m not the kind of person who was supposed to survive something like that. Without the group, I would have died a long time ago.” Christine paused to catch her breath. “But I didn’t. And then I had to become different. For my family, I had to. Not better. Different. I’m becoming a person I don’t want to be and if you send us back out there, I’ll be that person. Forever. It’ll just be who I am. And I don’t want that.”

Christine felt on the verge of hysteria.

“We’re not going to send you away, Christine. The choice of whether to stay or not is yours.”

Christine felt her knees give out but caught herself against the door before she could fall.

“I choose to stay.”

“Then welcome to Alexandria.”

Deanna held out a shockingly clean hand to Christine, who shook it with her own hand, dry and cracked from the sun, with dirt lodged in all the cuts. Christine felt a mixture of dread and relief wash over her as she felt the squeeze of Deanna’s surprisingly firm handshake.


End file.
